July 6, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Aunt Tillie had some of her friends to the house today. One of them played the piano and another lady sang and everyone said that she sang so beautifully but I know that she didn’t. She sounded just like an ambulance when it rushes down the street but I didn’t tell her so.

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The description of Aunt Tillie’s friend’s singing is reminiscent of Florence Foster Jenkins. Hilda is learning self-restraint rather than blurting out every reaction or opinion. At least once in awhile.

July 5, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I couldn’t write more yesterday because such a lot of people came in to see my father and I had to be polite to them. I want to tell the rest of the Boston Tea Party story…

Well, all the people said that they didn’t want to be ruled by England anymore. Then England was angry and sent a lot of soldiers over here and we didn’t have any soldiers, but all of the farmers took their rakes and hoes and hatchets and they went to their front yards to meet the English soldiers. Some of these soldiers weren’t even English, they were German because the King had hired them to fight for him. We had a wonderful brave man named Paul Revere who jumped on a horse as soon as he knew that the English had landed in America and he rode all night and morning, warning the American people that the English soldiers were coming. The poor horse must have been very tired. Well then we had other brave men like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, only then they were all English citizens at that time, but they got together and wrote out the Declaration of Independence on a big sheet of paper. It said that we were never again going to be bossed by England and we were never again going to pay any taxes on tea or stamps or anything else. We were going to be free to do anything we pleased. So there was a big war and lots of people were killed and when it was over, there was the United States.

Even so I don’t like the Fourth of July. Everyone shoots firecrackers and hangs out the flag but I hate the noise.

July 4, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This is the Fourth of July, and it is an important American holiday. Aunt Tillie read me the story of it before I went to bed last night, this is the story…

Once upon at time, the United States, but it wasn’t the United States then, the land belonged to England , but England was not kind to the people who lived here. She made them pay lots of taxes, and that means their money went to England, not all of it but a lot of it, and there was a very heavy tax on tea. It was very cruel to put such a big tax on tea, because everyone liked to have tea parties. Anyhow, one day a lot of men got dressed up in Indian costumes and they went abord a ship that was in Boston harbor and threw all the tea into the water. They called this, “The Boston Tea Party,” but no one could drink the sea water tea. I don’t know how that made any difference, or why they all dressed up as Indians? I do know that we celebrate because we don’t belong to England anymore.

July 3, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Daddy’s trunk came yesterday afternoon soon after we arrived home. He brought Aunt Tillie lovely long white gloves and velvet pansies and handkerchiefs and perfume, and he brought Grandmother a lace shawl and black gloves and a pretty bag made of lovely beads. Grandfather’s gift is a pair of handsome grey gloves with fur inside them. Pretty is for women and handsome for men, Aunt Tillie taught me the difference yesterday. He brought me so many things. Lots of beautiful hair ribbons and a pretty mother-of-pearl fan for my dancing school and a little white leather purse and a white dress that came from Paris, but he forgot to bring presents for Sherry and Brownie. When I told him he said that he was very sorry that he did forget and he would correct it by buying surprises for them the first time he went downtown.

July 2, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Daddy came yesterday. We all went across the bay to meet him and it was a lovely day. The sky and water were very blue, different shades bright and dark, and the sea gulls were very white. I fed them cakes just to pass the time of the Ferry Ride. I stole the cakes from the dining room on the boat while we were having hot chocolate. I know I was very excited, and so were my Grandparents. We finally met Daddy at the Southern Pacific Train Station at the other end of the Ferry ride in Oakland. Daddy looks very different, he has no more mustache. He was so happy to see me and he said that he has presents for all of us in his trunk and that the Train Company will send it to him at our home today or tomorrow.

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Earlier this year I took a ferry to Oakland. Like Hilda, I marveled at the gorgeous blues. Below is a photo from the 1910s of the San Francisco waterfront and one 2022. On each, a red arrow points to the Ferry Building. The final photo is looking north toward the Ferry Building with a row of seagulls in the foreground. Many changes in more than a century, but many things remain the same.

Photo courtesy of SAN FRANCISCO HISTORY CENTER, SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY

June 30, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

No Sunday School this morning because my father is coming this afternoon.

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Hilda was too busy with her father to write in her diary. She will return on July 2.

June 29, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

My father will be here tomorrow so I had to learn a poem that I really know already. It is called “The Children’s Hour,” and it was written by an American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He wrote the poem for his own children. He loved them very much. One daughter was called Allegra. I think that is a most beautiful name and I like it so much better than Hilda. I wish that children were able to name themselves.

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Hilda wrote the poem in her diary. Below is a typed transcription. She remembered it almost word for word. On the following page of her diary, she included her favorite poem, which she attributed to A.A. Milne. I found “Seven Times One” by Jean Ingelow.

June 28, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

The piece I am going to play for my father is a very pretty one. It is called “Auf der Wiese.” That means the meadow and Grandfather said to remember to pronounce the “W” like a “V” in German. How could I forget? Sometimes I think that grown-ups, even Grandfather, just keep reminding children that they are the smartest. The poem I haven’t chosen yet and Alma tells me that I have to hurry up, I only have two days left.

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Hilda probably played a Mozart song based on a poem by Goethe: Das Veilchen ("The Violet"). The first line is Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand (“A violet in the meadow stood”).

June 27, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I wonder if my father still has that same funny mustache with a curl at each end of it. Every morning when he gets up, he wraps the curls in a paper and he sits and practices the flute. The last time he was here he took me to the house of a very nice lady and she played the piano and together they played duets. Afterwards they had a tea party and she gave me a big piece of cake made of different colors. She called it a marble cake because the colors swirl and look like marble and then my father said that in Italy many beautiful churches are made out of colorful marble like the cake.

June 26, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I wonder if my father will take me to the Orpheum again and to the same beautiful restaurant he took me to the last time he was here. My father is very nice. Last time he let me order just what I wanted for lunch. It was French fried potatoes and ice cream together. I can never have that at home. My father plays the flute. Once he let me blow into it but I couldn’t, I could only spit in it.

June 25, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

A telegram came from my father this morning. He is coming to see me next week, Sunday, June thirtieth. Aunt Tillie says that now I must stop biting my nails so they will be pretty by the time he arrives here. Grandmother says that I must learn a new piece on the piano so that I can play for him, and Alma wants me to learn a poem to recite. Grandfather says, “Let the child alone.”

Hilda was born in New York to Solomon and Hilda Goldberg. She originally was to be named Claire (her mother’s middle name), but after her mother died a few days after she was born, she was named Hilda Claire Goldberg. It was decided that Hilda would be raised by her maternal grandparents Jacob and Sarah Levy in San Francisco. I don’t know how often she saw her father. He appears as a member of the Levy household in the 1910 census — he and 6-year old Hilda are listed as “lodgers.”

Hilda became quite an accomplished pianist.

June 24, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This afternoon Mrs. Braun visited us with her two daughters. One is eight like me and the other is much older, at least twelve and they go to Sunday School during the Summer too, only theirs is a Catholic school.

June 23, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Today some horrible friends of Aunt Tillie came to dinner and I sat at the dining table with the grown-ups but I wish I could have had dinner upstairs at my own table. Aunt Tillie made most of the conversation and Mr. and Mrs. Kirby mostly nodded and seemed to agree with all the things that Grandfather said too. After they left I heard even Aunt Tillie say they were not very interesting. I was polite and didn’t say anything.

June 22, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I still think of Suzanne and heaven. I don’t want to go to Heaven even if all the people who I know and love are supposed to be there. I want them to be here. I want to have them to tea with me and I want to tell them how I feel and that I miss them so and all the good times we had and how I liked them and knew they liked me. That is what I would like.

June 21, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I can’t forget Suzanne. I don’t think I want to. Aunt Tillie says she is in heaven but I don’t think heaven sounds so wonderful. All the people play harps and I don’t like harps. I once heard a lady play one at the Orpheum. It was tinkly-winkly and blurry. I prefer the piano and I like violins too. Anyhow I don’t think I want to go there. Alma says shame on me, don’t I want to see all the people I used to love like Uncle Harold’s friend, he always took me to the park and to the beach too until he got killed riding a horse. That is, he was killed because the horse threw him and he died on the ground. I said that of course I would like to see the people I loved but what about the ones that I didn’t love. Like Brigitte, a maid we used to have who always slapped me when she thought no one was looking. When Brigitte was sick, I prayed that she would die and she did, and I wouldn’t want to see her in heaven.

June 20, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This afternoon Alma took me to the park and while we were there feeding the ducks, I asked her why grandmother sleeps with grandfather, if good women are not supposed to sleep with men. Alma got very excited and asked me who had been filling my head with such naughty ideas. I told her that Gladys said that about Suzanne and she said that Gladys had no right to talk to me of such things. She said that Grandmother was a wonderful woman and has a right to sleep with Grandfather because he is her husband and she said that I mustn’t thing of such things again, that real ladies don’t think of such things.

June 19, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Today I received a lovely present from my father. A great big box of writing paper in every color of the rainbow and it is arranged in a box just like a rainbow. Pink and blue and yellow and lavender and pale green and there is also a metal block that has the letter “G” on it. This is called a monogram and I can have the initials of my last name stamped on each piece of paper just like a queen, only my “G” is for Goldberg. I am going to have the “G” placed right in the middle on top of each sheet of paper. I feel very important and more grown up.

June 18, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

Aunt Tillie does nothing but talk on the telephone all day long to all her friends and it is always about Suzanne. Sometimes I think they are all glad that the man shot her just because it gives them so much to say. When they talk about it their voices sound just the same as when they are telling funny stories.

June 17, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I was waking up this morning, and there stood Alma with my breakfast on a tray. She said that she came last night but she didn’t want to wake me up. Now everything is so wonderful and beautiful again and she says she is going to stay with me forever and ever and she has had all the rest she will ever need and is all well again.

June 16, 1912

From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

I thought of arithmetic. I know how to add and subtract now, I still don’t know everything about arithmetic. Miss Jackson is a very nice teacher and says that I am not stupid, and she doesn’t scold me when I can’t give the right answers. Next term, I won’t be afraid of Miss Hare when I am at the blackboard and besides it won’t be Miss Hare. Miss Cashen is my new teacher. I found out that Sunday School doesn’t have vacations. Grandfather said that it wasn’t nice of me to want a vacation from Sunday School because I should not want to have a vacation from learning and worshiping God. He said that we must do it every day.